


Song of Ice Alone

by Writer_Markilyn



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: ANd also sad af, Gen, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Jon Snow is now a Free Folk, Past Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Past Relationship(s), Post Season 8, Posted before the last episode, References to Depression, Sad Jon Snow, Slight Jonmund, Spoilers, give this boy a break pls, mostly canon, protective tormund
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-07 15:45:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18876244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writer_Markilyn/pseuds/Writer_Markilyn
Summary: SEASON 8 SPOILERS!!! - GoT ***Idk if these things will actually come true, but SOMEONE will die and signs point that it will be me.Jon Snow was finished with everything, he fought too many battles, saw too many people die; he's lost too many people he's loved and cherished and this third major war he fought was the breaking point.  His men said they won the war, but to Jon, it felt like he lost.Winterfell was no longer home to him, the land on the other side of Wall was the only place left he could rest peacefully, the one place that held two of his dearest companions; the true North, home of the Free Folk.





	Song of Ice Alone

**Author's Note:**

> God fucking save me from the heartbreak I'm going to feel in tomorrow's episode.
> 
> Godspeed, everyone. *Screams into the void*

Even on the furthest, outer edge of camp, it was still bustling with noise, Tormund was rather used to it by this point; it was reassuring background noise, it meant that his people he was leading were happy and well.

He was out skinning a couple of fat snow rabbits, they were plumper and it indicated that it was “spring” where he and his Free Folk lived, this was probably the warmest time of the year, perfect time to linger out and do chores such as this when the winter wasn’t nipping your fingers off.

Despite being focused on the task at hand, Tormund still felt himself jolt with nerves of something approaching and he inwardly grumbled to himself, leave it to the Fates to give him something that would come bustling along to try and steal his meal and new furs that he could use for bags of sheathes for his weapons.

All he really needed was his bloodied dagger in his hands; he had the brute strength to take anything down and he figured it to be another wild animal seeking him out due to the fresh smell of blood of his recent hunt.

He wasn’t expecting that “wild animal” to be in the form of one Jon Snow coming over the hill side.

The two stared at each other, Jon standing on the top curve of the hill, the sun was resting a little above Jon Snow, but Tormund could see him perfectly without being blinded. Tormund didn’t waste time crossing the distance, wiping his hands on his fur pants and shoved dagger back into the sheath that was tucked in his waist cloth, almost stabbing himself in his eagerness to get close to his friend again.

It had been a little over a few months since Tormund had last saw his dearest friend and to be completely honest, Tormund had feared the worst, but made himself believe that Jon Snow was all right and doing commander things that wouldn’t actually appoint Jon into being a king.

“Jon Snow,” Tormund murmured when he had finally reached the other man, his large hands gripped Jon’s biceps that were wrapped with dark furs on top of his tunic.  His searching gaze took in the sight of the shorter, the soft grin that was on Giantsbane's face slowly dimmed when he saw how gaunt and exhausted Jon looked, his friend couldn’t barely muster a greeting.  The taller took in the sight of his wild, curly hair was more a mess, the small bun he usually kept up was drooping and nearly free, his hair in his face, cheeks paler than a fish belly, lips chapped and void of any color, and his eyes…Tormund saw that hollowed gaze before, it was when Jon had been resurrected, but if anything, it seemed more empty, lost; Jon Snow was defeated.

“Oh, my little crow,” Tormund said gently, voice a low drawl as he squeezed gently at Jon’s arms.  “What have you been through?”

The words had been processed, because Jon’s brown furrowed, lips thinning; fighting back emotion.   “Tormund,” his voice was weak, “I just wish to rest, please.”

The Wildling was taken aback at the slight voice crack, but Tormund knew not when to press, even if he was itching with curiosity.  Tormund nodded silently, releasing Jon before moving one strong, yet gentle hand to rest on Jon’s right shoulder and nudged him forward.

“Your hunt,” Jon reminded, casting his gaze briefly to the two rabbits in the snow.

“Doesn’t matter,” Tormund huffed and kept marching Jon forward back towards the camp of the Free Folk.  He made an effort to keep Jon on his right, where his smaller friend would be hidden mostly from sight, but Jon still wore that dark fur cloak, as the rest of his clothes were in matching shades, so he did get a few passing stares.

Luckily, Tormund made it back to his tent without anyone approaching, Jon had the respect of the Free Folk, most were glum when Tormund was guiding them back through Castle Black without the former Crow.

The Wildling was surprised to see Ghost though, the dire wolf had slunk off somewhere, but it was obvious that he had done his own hunting and was happily gnawing on a stag bone that quickly became forgotten when Ghost saw Jon.

Dropping the bone, the large wolf almost tripped over himself in his haste to make it back over to his owner, fur singed tail wagging excitedly, tongue lolling from his jaws.

Jon had then barely made an effort to smile, his movements seemed almost pained as he reached out a leather covered hand and offered it to Ghost, to which, the large wolf pressed his giant head into Jon’s hand, large imploring red eyes gazed up at Jon in silent question.  “Hello, old boy,” he murmured, running his hand down carefully Ghost’s flank that was healed up, yet still missing areas of the snow-white fur, he was grateful to see that his nicked ear had healed over and looked better from the last time he saw it.

Tormund felt his heart warm to see his two favorites together, reunited at last and perhaps Ghost would whine less during the night and not pace restlessly, holding a vigil from Tormund’s tent all the way to the edge of camp, waiting for a certain someone to return to him.

Not that Tormund had been any better, but that was his secret alone.

“C’mon, let’s get you some grub, you look like a fuckin’ twig,” Tormund grunted.

“Maybe later,” Jon replied, pulling away from Ghost.  He looked at Tormund, fatigue heavily expressed in his eyes; they were slightly glazed and he looked a bit delirious and found himself being pushed towards the entrance of the tent that looked much nicer than from what Jon remembered.

Once inside, Ghost in tow, Tormund went to his storage chest and pulled out a few rolls of furs that he laid down near his own bedding, before going back to the chest again and pulled out a thickly woven blanket and another fur pelt.

“Well don’t just stand there gawking, get settled,” Tormund gruffly stated and kept his eyes from wandering when Jon undid the clasp of his cloak and rolled it use as a pillow.

Jon unlaced his boots, feet feeling much better after sitting down after walking for days after his horse had ran off after a spook from a pack of wolves when Jon had tried resting for a night.  He slid his gloves off and undid the fur wraps that were around his forearms and biceps and put those near his resting area, it was too cold to remove his tunic and trousers, even if the tent was heavily insulated.

Ghost had settled between Jon and the wall of the tent, resting his head on his paws, tag still wagging, although much slower this round.

Tormund saw that Jon was done and passed down the blankets he was holding, “Rest, you talk when you’re ready, or don’t at all, just know that I’m around,” he stated and heard Jon quietly thank him; the change of his demeanor was a little frightening, but Tormund knew there was a reason why.

He watched Jon pull the woven blanket over himself first before the fur one and basically curled up under them, Tormund was aching to know what happened to his friend and regretted not being there with Jon during the war with the Lannisters.

There was no point brooding over spilled goat’s milk, Tormund had barely exited his tent when he heard the soft, breathy, choked back sobs and it wrenched his heart to hear them, but he was not great at comfort, his daughters had never cried often, but it was usually over just as it began.   These soft cries seemed that they would be lasting a while, and the Wildling knew that Jon had his pride, so he would let Jon cry it out and collect himself, but it wouldn’t stop Tormund from being just a little gentler with his currently fragile friend.

By the time Tormund returned, the sun had vanished, the moon had risen and Tormund still had his meat and furs, much to his shock.  He had laid the pelts out over the drying rack just outside his tent, wrap the cut meat, and bury them in his ice basket that he had just packed with ice for his meats.

He quietly unburied the area that was near the door, a mat rested overtop of the location, he lifted the lid of the box and was pleased that the ice hadn’t even melted, he pressed the fresh meat into the divot with the rest of his other unsalted meats.

After that was taken care of, basket lid placed securely over his goods, Tormund reburied the basket smoothly and put the mat back over the area and dusted off his hands.  He grabbed his horn of ale as the goat’s milk wasn’t quite ready yet, and took a few gulps of that before getting ready to retire for the night, where he kicked off his boots and shucked off his over tunic, and fur trousers, leaving himself in his linen shirt and undershorts.

He gave one last look at the lump that Jon Snow was, that side of the tent was now silent, and Ghost had tucked his head over the mound, watching Tormund, which slightly unnerved the Wildling; the wolf had too much intelligence in those ruby red eyes.

Nodding at the wolf once, Tormund settled into his furs and yanked the fur blankets over him, sighing as quietly as he could and let himself drift off, feeling content and relaxed now that he had Jon Snow just a few feet away from him.

~~~

Something was amiss.

Tired blue eyes shot open and Tormund winced due to the sudden consciousness and he rubbed at his eyes, sitting up and looked around his tent; nothing was touched, Free Folk kept their hands to themselves or Tormund would remove them, the sun was just rising and when he looked over to the side where Jon was occupying, the bed was empty, blankets neatly folded and stacked on the closest corner of the pelt bed to the wall of the tent.

Clothes, boots, Jon Snow, and Ghost had vanished, but his long sword lay propped up against the tent.

“I’m gonna strangle that crow,” Tormund growled to himself.  It was _too_ early to be going on a manhunt, despite the other life-threatening conditions he had been in previously before with the Wights and Night King and whatnot.

He really should send that little, terrifying Stark girl a grand ivory horn with fresh goat’s milk for allowing Tormund to sleep peacefully without having the fear of having a vivid blue-eyed dead man trying to rip him limb from limb in his own tent.

After getting redressed and had at least a few daggers on his person, Tormund threw the tent entrance flap to the side and stalked outside, the fresh dew was iced over, but would soon thaw.

He could already see smoke in the sky, so a few early risers were most likely making breakfast at the pit of camp or at their own tents, but Tormund knew that Jon wouldn’t be in the center of camp, not with how he had been behaving last night.  Jon wasn’t a very social crow from the get go (Tormund chuckled at his own joke), but Jon at least tried to put an effort to seem approachable, especially with the Free Folk, and Tormund knew he wouldn’t want them to see him in such an emotional state.

So, Crow and wolf hunting he was.

Tormund passed a few elders, they were checking their river traps, and one of the women raised her hand to Tormund in greeting.  He smiled to her, “Good morning.”

“Morning to you,” she responded.  “If you’re looking for your pretty bird and the dire wolf, they’re by the maw of water creek,” she gestured to the medium sized mountain that had a pouring waterfall on the other side of it that faced the rising run.

“Many thanks, he’s going to give me white hair from his vanishing acts,” Tormund grumbled and heard her croaky laugh.

“I hope you find him well, Tormund, for we have a large catch of salmon tonight to have a couple for everyone at the pit tonight for supper,” the elder informed him.  “Safe travels, young man.”

Oh, how Tormund love this time of year, as the salmon were extra fat and juicy come spring time.

The Wildling departed from the river and headed towards the direction where Jon and Ghost were, he had to climb a little bit and wondered how on earth Jon got his damn wolf up the side of the mountain.

He reached the summit, breathless and feeling like his furs were weighing him down, but there at the cliff side, facing the sun was his source of why he even climbed the damn mini mountain in the first place.

Ghost glanced back at him, judging him silently and Tormund barely refrained from sneering at the wolf, as the last thing he needed was a dire wolf to be on his ass because he couldn’t handle climbing up a mountain.

Jon Snow was sat on smoothed down summit, facing the rising sun, eyes closed, and one bare hand was buried in the thick, white scruff of Ghost’s fur, his breath was barely visible in the morning air.  He didn’t acknowledge Tormund as the taller came closer and dropped down to sit next to him a low grunt, but his eyes did open when he felt the coarse fur of Tormund’s overtunic brush against his hand that he left resting next to him that he pulled into his lap now to give Tormund space.

“What crawled up your ass to climb a fuckin’ mountain before the sun rose?” Tormund demanded.

“The sun was out when we got to the top,” Jon retorted, opening his eyes to look over to Tormund, the taller was pink cheeked from his climb and his pale blue eyes were searching over Jon’s face.

“You know what I mean,” Tormund huffed, glaring a bit, as Jon usually knew how to ruffle him up, but it was always light jabbing, something that Tormund actually enjoyed.  He saw the sad look on Jon’s youthful face that had Tormund’s stomach clenching nervously.

“Dany’s dead.”

The statement was brisk and clear and all Tormund could see was the hurt and anguish in Jon’s dark, dark eyes, bottomless pools of night, he had heard before from some swooning women, but despite that, they had always been warm when with friends and loved ones, but now, they were empty, cold as the frozen hell that the Free Folk lived in.

“The mother of dragons?” Tormund questioned and saw the pinched expression Jon answered him with.

“She was more than that,” Jon’s response was a little sharp, like he had been the one offended.  “She was a queen, she guided people, she freed slaves, she fought alongside us during that war against the Wights, she was a _warrior_.”

Tormund felt a little guilty to set Jon off, when it was obvious he treasured her, “You loved her.”

“She was my family,” Jon murmured, casting his gaze into the frozen woods below them.  “I’m a Targaryen, she was my aunt.  I was the last of her family…and I—”

The shaky pause had Tormund placing a hand on Jon’s shoulder, “You don’t need to talk about it, Little Crow, not if you are not ready.”

“We’re close and I’ve always entrusted everything to you, Tormund, it wouldn’t be fair to you if you didn’t learn what happened when we parted at Winterfell,” Jon responded, nervously combing his fingers through Ghost’s fur.

“But it’s not fair to you to relive something harmful the moment when you’ve just walked away,” Tormund argued.  “Believe me, I can be a patient man.”

“Debatable,” Jon cracked a weak smile at him.

“Oi!” Tormund growled and felt something lighten in his chest when Jon laughed softly.

The moment passed and Jon looked sullenly out again, “She destroyed King’s Landing even after they had surrendered,” he informed Tormund.  “She flew Drogon over the whole city and burned down every building, every small home, every single innocent citizen who lived there.  Her armies slaughtered those who escaped the fire; surrendered soldiers, men, women, _children_ ,” Jon shivered and felt Tormund tuck him under his arm, the warmth welcome.  “The castle came down, I saw it from when I had my men retreat, as it didn’t matter who was part of her army or who lived there, the fire came down, destroying everything and I had to get my men out of there.”

“What then?” Tormund asked him, he saw that Jon was remembering everything.

“We fell back to Winterfell,” Jon replied.  “We regrouped…we had allying homes come to our aide, they all feared Daenerys, they called her the Mad Queen,” he spat.  “They said she was just like her father.”

Tormund wisely said nothing, seeing that Jon needed a moment to calm to himself down.

Jon pressed his eyes and forehead into his hand, taking in a shuddery breath, “I should have listened to Sansa…all of this could have been avoided.”

“If so, you knew Daenerys, I barely knew the woman, but I was there for those meetings, but I know she would not just step aside,” Tormund replied.  “What could you have done to change her mind when she was grieving her company, when her view of the end was all the much stronger?”

Jon sat silently, “I don’t know,” he whispered.

“Nothing, no one could have done a thing, not even her spokesperson, the small man, he couldn’t have said a thing to change her mind and she had appointed him herself,” Tormund stated. 

“I wish I had tried to persuade her…but I,” Jon trailed off with a bitter look, “I was _afraid_ of her.  Afraid of what she could have done to my sisters, to my brother after what I saw her do to Lord Varys.”

“Aye, I can understand the fear of going against a dragon, you’re still fuckin’ crazy for riding the damned whelped beast,” Tormund chuckled and saw that Jon’s lips at least quirked into a small smile before falling back into their frown.

“We then brought the war to her, the fight was horrible, I thought I was going to die before I had the chance to even try to talk Dany out of this unnecessary war,” Jon continued.  “But when I did reach her, Arya had made it there before me, she had defeated Greyworm, who was one of Dany’s leading commanders,” it sounded like Jon wanted to be proud of that accomplishment, “but she had been injured and then face to face with Drogon,” his face grew grim again.

He vividly remembered the large, winged beast staring down his younger sister with that sinister, slit eyed glare, jaws parted, exposing razor sharp teeth that could take the biggest solider horse in half, and the echoing low rumble from deep within that scaled chest.

The faraway look came back to Jon’s face and Ghost whined softly at his master’s unease that left him shivering under Tormund’s arm; it had been such a horrifying moment for Jon, because all Dany had to do was gesture and Arya would have been scorched to death or eaten alive.

“She wasn’t the villain, she wasn’t the Mad Queen, she wasn’t every horrible thing that those terrified people shouted,” Jon quietly told Tormund, afraid that the Wildling would judge him.

“She was your family,” Tormund nodded sympathetically. 

“She was angry, she was in _pain_ ,” Jon continued, voice trembling in grief, and he shook his head.  “I should have never asked her to help all the months ago or her company would still be alive today.”

“We would all be dead,” Tormund bluntly stated.  “Perhaps she could have lasted a while longer due to her dragons, but in the end, we all would have been slaughtered and be risen by that ice prick.”

“It’s not so bad,” Jon replied.  “Death, I mean, it hurt leading into it, but it turned to nothing.  No more pain, worries, _nothing_.”

“You’re a fighter, Jon Snow, you wouldn’t have lied belly up,” Tormund gruffly reminded him and he heard Jon scoff.  “I mean it!  When we were about to get ripped to bits when we had been on the ice landing, you fought when it was damn near impossible to survive, you did a very stupid thing when you didn’t leave with us, but you fought until you sank under the ice.  You survived the fight of Night King when you could have easily given up when the dead was brought back a second time, so many times you could have just keeled over, but you didn’t.”

“I didn’t want to fight this time!” Jon shouted, jerking away from Tormund’s embrace.  He stood, glaring down at Tormund, as fierce and battle ready as always, ready to rip the threat apart if it meant he could survive to protect those he loved.  “Not Dany…I didn’t want to fight her.”

Ghost had shot up the moment Jon shouted, crouching slightly as he eyed Jon, bushy tail tucked low.

“But you had to, you had to save your littlest sister,” Tormund gently reminded, he stood too, towering a bit, but he knew the height difference didn’t mean a damn thing, Tormund knew even the smallest could be vicious when pressed hard enough.

“But I did,” Jon agreed, still bristled, but he wasn’t glaring so intensely now.  “I hate that it was even a difficult decision.”

That did surprise Tormund and he struggled to keep his gaze level, “You loved them both, they were both your family.”

“I grew with Arya, played games with her, joked with her, secretly taught her how to fight when she was old enough to properly hold a dagger; it shouldn’t have been a struggling choice,” Jon felt sick admitting this out loud.  “Dany was someone I could confide in, we both had lost former lovers, both us were forced into this fight, we had each other, I loved her, admired her, and feared her.  She would have made an imposing queen, but she would have come for Sansa to become that, I couldn’t lose my sisters.”

Jon felt the brisk morning air brushing against his heated face and he welcomed the cold, feeling to hot and stiff in his own skin; he had felt confliction before, but that had been the worst, having to choose between his little sister and a woman he had worshiped.

“I should have died after killing Dany; her dragon turned on me,” Jon admitted softly.  “I thought I was going to die, to be completely honest, but I survived the dragon’s flame; Drogon’s fire didn’t even singe me.”

The exasperated look that Jon gave him had the shock Tormund was submerged in turn into a sharp, hysterical laughter that had Tormund practically bent over, holding his stomach as he laughed wildly.

Jon didn’t know how to respond other than wait until Tormund was wiping the tears from his eyes, “I laughed too and then passed out,” Jon said when he was sure Tormund was done.  “I only woke up because Arya was slapping me and when we looked around, Drogon was gone and so was Daenerys.”

“The fuckin’ _dragon_ took her _away_?” Tormund wanted to think that was crazy, but Jon had just informed him that he survived getting torched by dragon’s fire and not a single hair on his pretty head had burned.

By the gods, if Jon ever told this story how he survived dragon’s fire, Tormund knew the Free Folk would worship him like a god, most silently did when Jon had come back to life in Castle Black and that felt like eons ago and Tormund didn't really like remembering Jon's corpse on that study table.

Jon looked uncertain, “Maybe, but we didn’t stay to figure that out.”

“What of the rest?” Tormund asked him, moving to sit back down where he previously was, patting the spot next to him.  He chuckled softly as it was Ghost who trotted over and planted himself down by Tormund, and Jon slowly followed, murmuring apologies to the wolf for startling him.

“We had the army surrender and left to Winterfell,” Jon summarized.  “It took almost three weeks to get back, and then I had to finish recovering, but once I felt stronger, I left Winterfell almost a week ago, Sansa took the throne to rule the Seven Nations, Arya left Winterfell a couple days after Sansa had gotten situated, Tyrion will be part of her council as will Lord Davos, and I know I can trust them to keep her safe,” Jon paused briefly and could feel Tormund’s inquiring stare.

“You still look guilty,” Tormund commented.

“It’s merely just guilt of the whole thing,” Jon muttered.  “So many more people _died_.  I had almost lost Arya because my heart would not reason with me.  I left without telling Sansa, Bran is aware…he always seems to be aware of everything these days…he actually told me how to find you camp.”

“He’s unique, he’s got a lot of stories to share when one will sit and listen, I for the most part hate’em, but your little brother had some interesting stories of way back when,” Tormund stated.

“He is called the Three-Eye Raven, an unnerving title, but Bran is good, he’ll also be able to keep Sansa safe, he promised he would,” Jon continued about his younger brother.  “He knew of my heritage, the Night King, the wars…he also warned me about Dany, not directly, but he was trying to guide me and I ignored him.”

“The self-loathing is not a good look on you, Jon Snow,” Tormund chided.  “Although that was not the battle you wanted, you fuckin’ did it and won.”

Jon still looked saddened, “The cost wasn’t worth it.”

“It never is,” Tormund agreed, eyes understanding.

The pair sat in silence for a while, even after the sun had moved to midday and Tormund’s stomach rumbled loudly that it startled both Jon and Ghost that made Tormund laugh, slapping Jon on the shoulder, “Come on now, Little Crow, I know you haven’t eaten since yesterday, there’s no point of you withering away in hunger when you’re already brooding yourself to nothing.”

“I don’t brood,” Jon argued, narrowing his eyes at Tormund.

“But you do, boy, you sulk like one of my daughters,” Tormund teased him and heard Jon huff at him.  He rose and offered his hand to Jon, “If you don’t get up, I’ll sling you over my shoulder like the girl you’re bein’,” he warned.

Jon reluctantly stood up and as much as he wanted to argue with Tormund, he was too tired and he was _starving_ and his stomach let him know by letting out a long growl that had his face turning pink.

The three of them carefully made their way down the mountain side, Ghost beating the both of them, Tormund silently pondered if that wolf had some goat blood in his veins.

Once at the bottom, the two men caught their breath and Tormund gave Jon a squinted glare, “Next time you decided to climb up a fuckin’ mountain, I’m leavin’ you there.”

“I think I’ve learned my lesson,” Jon huffed. 

“C’mon then, let’s get back to tent, wash up, we’re all dusty.  I’m a Wildling, not a savage,” Tormund stated and saw Jon arch an eyebrow at him. “Ah, shut it,” he grumbled and saw Jon smile at him innocently as he could. 

~~~

“Your camp has hot springs,” Jon stated the obvious, but his tone was a disbelieving one.

“Aye, we try to locate an area where we can wash and another where we can catch our fish,” Tormund nodded, quite pleased with himself.  “Now git, you dirty crow,” he pushed Jon forward, the shorter stumbling a bit before shooting a glare over his shoulder.

Jon was still just awestruck that it was a _running_ hot spring, there was water going through the small cave and the humidity from the warm waters steamed the smoothed walls.  He felt himself heating up under all his layers and Jon unclasped his cloak and let it drop to a heap on the ground, leaving himself in his dark navy tunic and dark trousers and boots.

Tormund was already undressed, he wasn’t shy about himself and sauntered over to the heated water, sinking into the pleasantly warm water with a content sigh.  He opened an eye when he knew Jon was in the water, his dark hair was completely down and watched the shorter dunk his head under before pushing his hair back out of his face.

“How the hells did you even find this place?” Jon asked, leaning back against a rock wall that had been smoothed out from current.

“We saw steam wafting and we thought it was a camp, but it was this place,” Tormund replied.  “The river that we passed to get to that mountain we were on, we found that first and planned on making camp near it regardless.”

“The luck on you is astounding,” Jon mused and washed at his face.

“Here” Tormund had leaned over to grab his satchel that he had picked up from his tent when he and Jon returned, dropping Ghost off and gave him a late breakfast.  “Bathing pouch, everyone has one,” he chuckled.  “We may not like kings and queens and all that frilly stuff, but we _know_ no one likes to be sat next to someone smelly.”

Jon understood that, he remembered most of the men of the Nightwatch were not the most hygienic and eating in the voting lounge while shoulder to shoulder with some of those men had been something he tried to purge from his memory.  He had regularly tried to keep his face and hair clean and bathed when he had a moment of privacy, but still, Jon knew Sansa would have wrinkled her nose at his state when he had been part of the Watch, as his sister had always made sure everyone was cleaned up before dinner.

Tormund passed him a wrapped cleaning soap, “Don’t worry, I picked up a fresh one,” he chuckled when Jon had looked at it hesitantly.  “For a wee man who can get down and dirty, you sure are a princess.”

“Wanting to be clean doesn’t make you a girl,” Jon scoffed.  “It just means you have a conscious that not everyone wants to smell you from two miles away,” he took the soap and started to wash his arms; he did like the soft scent that came from it.

He washed at his hair before scrubbing down the rest of himself, feeling better all ready and then he just let himself doze for a bit, he had turned to fold his arms to rest on the ground behind him, resting his head on his bicep as the warmed water gently pushed by him.

Tormund relaxed as well, they could afford the few minutes to just relax in the hot water when they had been in the freezing morning air; he probably shouldn’t let them sit for too long, as it meant that Jon would start thinking about the last war he was in.  Already, Tormund saw his brow furrow and that’s when he poked at Jon’s shoulder, the skin was warmed from the steam, but he still had chills raising on his skin, “We’ll starve to death if we linger in this water any longer.  I have some fresh rabbit meat I can fire up to last us before supper, we’re going to gather at the pit for salmon.”

At the mention of food, Jon felt his stomach growl that was luckily muffled by the rush of water.  He didn’t want to leave, but having Tormund cook up rabbit sounded even more pleasing; he had no idea that Tormund could actually cook so well, despite being so brash and well, barbaric. 

The drying linens were a little rough and itchy, but Jon didn’t make a fuss.  He swept them over his body before pulling on his trousers and tunic again; they were warm too from the heat of the cave.  He sat as he pulled on his boots and wrapped his cloak around himself again and by the time he was finished, Tormund was grabbing his bathing bag and slung it over his shoulder before heading to the mouth of the cave.

The trudge back to Tormund’s tent wasn’t the quietest one, the taller man was blabbering on about everything Jon missed in his absence, but Jon didn’t mind the talk, it was a good distraction and he like hearing what went on in the camp and Ghost’s activities.

“Hoo, and you shoulda seen the look on that Brahl’s face when your wolf weaseled that venison off that drying rack!” Tormund was howling.

Jon was smiling endearingly, he could only imagine and it made him happy to know that he wouldn’t be missing out on Ghost’s antics or Tormund’s, as his friend had a lot of his own gimmicks.

“It’ll be more interesting now that you’re here,” Tormund said easily as they reached his tent.  He gave Jon a careful look, “You are stayin’, aren’t ye?”

“Yes,” Jon promised and his chest didn’t feel tight from the confession, nor did the guilt linger; Winterfell no longer felt like home, he had been away for too long and the battles fought there left harsh scars in his memory.

The Free Folk were his home, while Jon had to earn the trust and respect of the camp previously, they didn’t ask much of him and listened to his opinions, and left him to his own devices, especially as he’s close to Tormund, who still speaks with high praise of Jon to them.

Life here was simple and Jon was grateful for it; he had been fighting almost every moment that he learned that there a threat and continued to fight threat after threat, until it led up to him here.

The last war still hurt and Jon knew it would be a long recovery, but sitting here on soft furs next to a cooking fire with Tormund and Ghost curled up against his side, Jon knew he could survive this, despite the hollow feeling that told him that none of this mattered.

“Tell me, my little crow, should I ask you to walk barefoot through this fire, could you do it without your skin bubbling?” Tormund asked as he was carving out thick chunks of rabbit meat.

The giddiness of childlike wonder on Tormund’s face had Jon laughing until tears ran down his cheeks; he knew the answer to his impending self-doubt, he could survive this, live among the Free Folk as if they were his own, knowing that his surviving family would live fine, he would be fine just as well, especially alongside his brash companion and mischievous wolf.


End file.
